A Witness to a Stolen Soul
by Salty Q
Summary: Sam's perspective of Dean's final moments with the hellhounds. This is somewhat of a response to Cerridwen7777's "Devil Dogs". Cerri, thanks for the encouragement & "permission" to tell this side of the story! Feel free to review and thanks for reading


**A Witness to a Stolen Soul**

The grandfather clock struck the first chord of Dean's doom, interrupting Sam and Ruby's frenzied argument. Sam's mind was reeling with desperation as the clock continued to declare that Dean's time was up.

Sam pulled his eyes away from the clock with difficulty and glanced at Ruby, whose face was unreadable as she murmured an apology to Dean.

"Hellhound," Dean nearly whispered.

"Where?" Sam swallowed and glanced around the room.

Dean couldn't pull his eyes away from the beast in the doorway, "There."

A low, intense growl emitted from where Dean continued to stare that only Dean could hear. Although Sam could see nothing, the terror in Dean's eyes frightened him. His instinct was to step back, but he seemed frozen to the spot. Sam heard Dean begin to run and followed instinctively as the three of them rushed from the room, panicked.

They flung themselves into the nearest room and Sam and Ruby turned to hold the door. Sam felt an intense déjà vu as he was forcefully reminded of helping Evan hold off the hellhounds what seemed like years ago. Only it had been different then. Dean had been at the crossroads saving Evan from the hellhounds. Now Dean was trapped in the room with Sam; and Dean was their target.

Time was moving too fast. Sam felt a wild desperation to stop time, to go back, to do _anything_ but be in the moment they were now experiencing. Once Dean had hastily lined the doorway with goofer dust, Sam and Ruby backed away from the door and looked around at each other, each of them wanting the other to formulate a foolproof escape plan and all of them understanding that escape was impossible.

Ruby suddenly stepped forward and demanded the knife from Sam, suggesting that she could hold the hellhounds off. Sam's heart leapt with a strange sense of relief, wanting nothing more than to believe that Ruby would be able to take them on. But there was something about her eagerness—her childlike glee at the fact that he had started to hand it to her that wasn't quite right. He hesitated.

Sam glanced at Dean, whose face had become distorted in confusion, "Wait!"

Ruby's scornful glare turned to Dean, "Do you wanna die?"

Dean was yelling to Sam now, desperately, "That's not Ruby!"

Sam had one thought, _Lilith_.

Sam brought the knife around and started to lunge at Ruby, but was flung backwards into the wall as the knife flew from his grasp. He heard Dean crash into the table and looked his way frantically. Everything was happening too fast and he couldn't stop it. If he was so powerful—if he was _chosen_—why couldn't he put a stop to such unjustness?

Lilith had approached him and clutched his face. Sam tried not to look at her as she drew in and touched his lips to hers. Her mouth was cold, hard—dead. Sam felt a fleeting hope within his mind. At least they had found her. She was the only one that could stop what was about to happen to Dean. He heard himself tell her to release Dean as he struggled against the invisible demon force that had pinned him to the wall. Lilith seemed merely amused at his attempts as she made her way back towards the door.

Sam knew what was next and could do nothing to stop it. His eyes flew to Dean, whose face finally revealed the horror he felt inside. Sam felt the tears sting and tried to blink them away as Lilith's smile drew wider and her head lower as she opened the door, creating a fissure in the line of goofer dust.

In less than a second the hounds were across the room and attacking Dean.

Sam had never felt anything like it. It was as if his heart, his being, his very existence was in the midst of an icy fire that was unjustified, uncontrolled and irreversible. He screamed—with a voice that sounded nothing like him; he shrieked—one word over and over: "NO! NO! NO!"

There was no otherworldly sound or sight for Sam, which made it much harder for him to bear. Sam imagined that if he could at least see the cursed creatures that were taking his brother's life, he would have something to hate—something to loathe and blame—not being allowed to see, hear, or feel them was the worst of it all. However, Sam had read the legends and had viewed the pictures of the many versions of hellhounds. He could imagine the grotesque figures that were, quite literally, tearing his older brother apart.

As Sam helplessly watched, he could see that despite the horror of what was happening to him, Dean was still making an attempt at gallantry. Although Dean was terrified, completely panicked and bleeding, his eyes flicked to Sam in a way that could only mean one thing. Sam understood the "order"—Dean wanted him to look away. Dean wanted him to preserve whatever would have been left of Sam's innocence in the moment before Dean's death. But Sam knew better. There was no innocence. Innocence was a word forgotten among the Winchester brothers.

Sam yelled again, hardly hearing his voice and somewhat unaware of what he had said, as he once again wished he could see the enemy. As Sam looked on helplessly, Dean's torso suddenly displayed an array of claw marks and his chest spouted blood. Sam's entire body felt like a trap that was preventing him from intervening as the vicious force destroyed his brother—a force that Sam could not see.

Sam's mind screamed in a way that he wasn't aware was possible. Dean was dying—this was it. He had doubted it, fought it, denied it—but it was happening. After all the effort, there was no stopping it.

As Sam physically fought the invisible binds of Lilith's force, he found his mind inexplicably drift to a forgotten world that he probably never would have remembered had it not been for such extreme circumstances. Several images flashed through his mind in less than five seconds: Dean tying Sam's shoe because he'd forgotten the bunny ears; having a hellacious snowball fight with several boys who had later regretted underestimating Sam and Dean's power and aim; nearly crawling back after a scuffle with a doppelganger; laughing with, fighting, hating, and loving the brother that he was about to lose.

As the moment grew more desperate, Sam wanted nothing more than to leap from the wall and engage in a battle—any kind of battle—with the vicious hell hounds that he could not see. His body was a battleground in itself. He felt his life force thrusting itself forward—every particle of his being was berating the inside of his own body to join the fray. For several seconds Sam was afraid that his own soul would betray him and abandon him to join his brother, although he wasn't sure how that would be possible.

The feeling of his body fighting itself was agonizing—almost as agonizing as watching Dean convulse and writhe in unfathomable pain—but as the seconds wore on, it became more apparent that Sam would not die. At least he would not die with Dean; a fact that Sam was not ready to deal with.

As Dean coughed up a mouthful of blood, Sam's entire body, once again, surged forward in an attempt to help as Dean's feeble attempts to fight off the hellhounds were so obviously failing.

"NO!" Sam was only aware of one word in the human vocabulary and it was the only one that made sense, "NO!"

Dean's eyes dimmed as his body succumbed to the harsh violence.

Sam's body was still trapped against the wall as he turned his eyes back to Lilith. He felt a little ashamed for not seeing it—the fact that Ruby had been possessed by Lilith. Her childlike demeanor was nothing short of obvious, now that he thought about it. The fact that she had asked for the knife—demanded it like a five-year-old child having a tantrum! How could he have been so dense?

Dean's body convulsed violently as he cried out one last time. Sam knew it was the end and couldn't bring himself to look at his older brother. Sam yelled once more before mumbling in disbelief—the same word, "No—no."

Sam felt an odd sort of detachment from the situation. Dean was dead. Sam's entire body felt numb and unresponsive. At that moment, he felt as if someone could have shoved a knife into him as if he was a pincushion and he wouldn't have reacted. The only thing that was keeping him upright now was the demon force that bound him to the wall. His eyes, full of pain, sorrow and—to his credit—defiance, settled on Lilith.

Lilith raised her left hand, an eerie glow originating in her palm. Sam fully expected to die in the next moment. As far as a life flashing before his eyes, he was disappointed. All he experienced in that moment was a lifetime of regrets—a hundred thoughts in the span of a few seconds. (I should have protected Jessica; I wish I'd have been closer to Dad; I wonder what my friends at Stanford will think; at least we got the one that killed mom; I could have been a lawyer; I shouldn't have fought so much.) And above all of it—all of the parts of him that were longing to be sorry, Sam couldn't help but feel right. In the final flash of light, as Lilith's force was thrust upon him, Sam felt as if he'd done everything the best he could. It may not be the best copout; maybe it wasn't one at all, but he felt as if he'd done what he could with a life he didn't ask for. He even felt a bit of carelessness because it was finally over.

As the light faded, Sam was aware that he was somehow still alive. At first he didn't move, strangely regretting that he had not died. He had been nearly relieved to finally leave this world that was so full of pain and evil. When he finally opened his eyes, Sam found himself crouched down with his hands protecting his face, but ultimately unharmed. He glanced questioningly to both sides of the room, then stood to his full height.

Lilith's arm was still thrust out in front of her, but her eyes were different—worried. She backed away disbelievingly, "Back."

Sam was unsure of his ability to survive her attack, but nothing mattered anymore. He was completely reckless. His heart, his mind, his logic were all gone. He felt like the machine he had feared becoming ever since the Trickster had taken Dean from him the first time. He approached Lilith with a sense of deliria as he consciously avoided glancing at Dean's body.

"Back," Lilith clearly had no faith in her own abilities as she backpedaled slowly. Her eyes suddenly darted around the room.

Sam was completely oblivious to his own safety as he half-smirked and scooped up Ruby's knife. Lilith's eyes widened in confusion and fear as Sam spun the knife into a stabbing position as a distinct brutality overtook his mind.

"I don't think so," Sam raised the knife in order to savagely kill Lilith with a wrath that he had never imagined he could feel.

Ruby's entire body shuddered as Lilith tore herself out of it. The demon-smoke flowed upward and into the vent with more haste than Sam had ever witnessed and he stumbled back at the ferocity of it. As the last of the smoke exited Ruby's mouth, her body collapsed, next to Dean's.

Until now, Sam had not allowed himself to look at Dean. However, he was now unable to help himself from regarding Dean's body with a mixture of anger, regret, angst, dread, and—to his own chagrin—relief. The deed was done. Sam had tried to stop the deal—tried with all of his might, but he couldn't help but feel that it would be easier to reverse the deal after it had been done, instead of stopping it after the deal had been made.

Sam approached Dean's body reluctantly. His instinct was to grasp Dean in his arms and bring him back by force of will, but he allowed himself a few moments to congest. Dean was completely lifeless. This fact could not have been more obvious. Sam knelt next to Dean's lifeless body and lifted his shoulders, fighting the tears.

Sam could vaguely hear a choked sob and realized dazedly that it was him. He was crying. He couldn't even feel the tears, but the proof fell onto Dean's shirt and mixed with his brother's blood.

Lilith had put it plainly. In order to ask for something, Sam needed something she wanted. He certainly had that. Whether or not he was willing to give it, he wasn't entirely certain. He would do anything in order to restore Dean's soul, but he didn't know if he could trust her.

Sam stopped thinking—for the first time in ages, he stopped _thinking_ and instead concentrated all of his being on _feeling_. He submerged himself in feeling what he hadn't allowed himself to feel for the last two years. He felt more pain, sorrow and dejection than any person should be allowed to survive. The rawness of everything that had happened—especially Dean's death—drove his mind to a place that he was afraid to experience.

Although he didn't understand it, he could still feel the laughter, love and enjoyment that had accompanied being Dean's brother. These feelings were the only thing keeping the darkness at bay as he held Dean's lifeless body in his arms.

Sam's world spun on an axis that he wasn't even aware that it had. He let it spin; he let it rule. Just for a few minutes, he let himself drift in a way that allowed him to recall, reconnect and be thankful for everything that had happened between Dean and himself.

Sam pulled it all in—every dark, light, bad or good energy. It was different now. He drew it in as if it were within his reach all along. Somewhere within his mind, the old Sam warned him, suggesting that he'd gone a little crazy. Maybe he had, but maybe he needed to.

As it all culminated into a muggy puddle of defeat and resolve, Sam regarded it with a cynical sneer. He had one objective and this was only the beginning. Sam continued to stare into the figurative pool of pain and darkness; then he spit in it.

He had work to do.


End file.
